Author of quotes: Esther-Grace Reeves

- To love is to always choke, you hear me?! to love and gasp. To love and to choke.
Maybe this is the strongest love?
Unwavering.

She went blind, was locked in his box, climbed under the cover of a huge concert piano, on which anyone to play not supposed to, and stopped. She floated out of the darkness, because the blind do not know when the tears flow. When they get stuck in the throat when eating away pimples on the hands and burn chapped lips of those who kiss.

- Don't be afraid, grace. I'm not sick anymore really, just me there reason keep. I think I've gone mad, since my son died and I'm okay, you know? I'm alive, - Mrs. Sanders holds me tight, sinking down on the icy floor. Is it about hospitals and physicians, blinded from fatigue in the New Year, just the Skater.
The moth, of course, alive. And very beautiful.
And will freeze soon, girls, Dylan drags us old things, remembering that the house-nothing remained. - Butterflies, Moths and Writer. Freeze.

Mrs. Sanders giggles, cries, and then sits by the window.
- How are you, a Moth in a hurricane? - I'm broke.
- What is it? I'm so much easier.
To run away? - Theo Breaks.
- To return.

My mom is a real Pianist. The nameless girl. Actress. My mom is also the Queen of the Kingdom just Ghostly mom, walking under the Windows, when absolutely no one. Only fit in a tiny box from under the Shoe. Or in someone's eyes, eternally crying. The Ghostly Queen mom, empty, like winter the frosty air, but warm, like melting snow.
Forgotten their children.

I dive in dirty blue, put on leg boots. Calling to a puppy and spinning in the rain, run to dad's car along with a buddy on hand.
- Oh, you, - whispered dad, I told you the umbrella was given, and you're still all wet.
I smile, running my lips with the tips of fingers rough, erasing peach water behind the ears and slapping cold, wet eyelashes. Umbrella at Dylan and left.
- Why are you whispering? - gently asked when dad leaves the yard.
- So the rain does. It is always so.

I pull on shaggy hood up, start swimming. In my silent marathon, I touch your legs to cruise home choking. All that remains after me, a huge void, heavy, pulling down to the ground. Or even lower. And all that is before me, transparent like a fake, but it is not. My mother is in me and if you don't like-faith, but I believe only in her, buried under the ground, forgotten.
I believe, and seen all that there is.

I love the world you.

- Is best friends leave like that? - I asked, and the boy with chocolate eyes and turns away. He really doesn't understand that running away, kills you again? Recognizes the twenty-eighth and hiding. - Dylan, - plaintively pull if he's going to cry, though.
- Don't be afraid, grace. Grief does not disappear. It's still so much to be that swallow and inhale, behold, naslyshishsya.
Grief does not disappear.

The snow sweeps up clouds, the sky becomes snow-white, hanging over us like a canopy, protects. People wink light, create an impregnable fortress, blink. One, two, and everything is completely different.

The world is abuzz in silence, like a whisper, like a mother, gently, not sparing words. He has his nightlights - people, it is their hearts that ignites, then extinguishes when they bored him. Not-likes quiet, although I know that on the contrary, quiet love, fraught, no one is telling reborn within you, and cry unless it's from happiness or from frost.

- People think that silence is the tears, but I do not believe, running towards his house, treading the white snow and break the thin ice. - The silence is ourselves. Do you hear?
Well, answer. Please.
- I hear that.
As well. You're here again. Now I can smile again and live.
I roll under the snow the rain, brushing away with your curls this winter. You quietly sing along with me, circling around.
- And what do you hear?
Only you.
- How?
- You said yourself that angels can't feel the wind, sun and ice. And hear, in fact, only the voices of loved ones, that's how.
- So, are you still an angel?
- Still, - you shuffle a foot, and my hand in your hand. And I'm smiling, crying and reeling in different directions. - It happens, you know, my girl? Want to release their butterflies into space along with the wishes, but I can't. Painful, scary, difficult. And they either came down in sleet or dissolve in the air.
- Don't kill my butterflies.
- I'm sorry. Silence is not just us.
- But what else? - Your eye-glasses also in the patterns. I tilt my head sideways and read you for the millionth time.
- Death - I do not believe.

She loved to water the trees, and I loved quietly feeding her the lake while she thought it was her mom.
And I loved to love her.
- It's like rain, she cried - and the rains - it's always fun. Because they are alive. And because they are for everyone.

The sea drowned in love. And even the sun, being the brightest light that burned because of you.